Nothing
by Phobbers
Summary: Life with the Dursley's was worse than expected and the mistake that was made in not telling Harry how to get onto the platform, affected him more than anyone thought possible. Warning: Character death (not very explicit, but it is there)


Limping across King's Cross Station, Harry couldn't help but observe the people around him. The ones who were smiling, the ones who were talking, the ones with a sense of purpose, no matter how small it was, it entranced him. He had no such purpose. He had been kicked out of the car by his very much larger cousin and had a trunk of items dropped on the curve of the pavement next to him, before his _loving_ family zoomed off in their new car. He sought for that sense of purpose, faintly remembering that he had fought to come here but, now that he was on his way, he had no idea what he was doing. He reached the area between platforms nine and ten and stopped. He knew that the platform on his ticket shouldn't exist, but nothing he had known in the past month was anything normal. That had been drilled into his head finely, thank you very much. He began to fiddle with the frayed hem of his shirt, his eyes darting out from under his fringe with the new sense of fear that was creeping into him. He had been abandoned.

He had no idea why he had been left like that. He knew he could do odd things but, maybe the zoo had been the final straw for his aunt and uncle… but, that wouldn't explain Hagrid, or the freakish things the large man could also do. Unless that was also a lie. He knew it was too good to be true. He knew how good his family could act. But he didn't know what to do next. This was the opportunity to leave that he had desperately wanted for years but, he wasn't prepared for it. He wasn't a fool, he knew that being an eleven year-old boy living on his own was an easy target for the more disgusting side of humanity, or worse, those who believe they could help return him to his family and that he was simply _troubled_. After all, how could you explain the things in his trunk? Or, the owl that was freakishly intelligent? It would be waved away as a child's fancy…

As his mind drove into a state of familiar depression, the trembling in his hands worsened. He wasn't prepared and he didn't know where to go or, how to survive. He didn't have any food or water in his trunk, apart from the owl treats and he was really unsure if he could let his new friend go so he could eat the treats himself. He knew how to look after himself in a house and if he had money, he had been trained for that his entire life. He didn't know what to do now. So, in the first time in six years, Harry felt himself crying but, he couldn't associate himself with the action. Curious hands wiped away the water, identifying their origin point but, not understanding the reason for them. All these new developments were overwhelming him, he didn't know how to handle the new circumstances nor, the emotions he had buried deep within himself to keep his family somewhat happy.

As his mind worked up various daunting possibilities, his feet moved him on autopilot towards platform nine, away from the area in-between. He left his stuff behind, his mind trapped in this new, frantic state of being. A loud woman clamoured past him, followed by a group of orange-haired children. Her shouts were similar to statements made by Hagrid just a month ago and he was momentarily relieved. His mind stilled as he looked at the family. His eyes followed them desperately, looking for answers, until he felt the desperate need to blink. He blinked and she was gone. He hated himself in that moment. He hated how weak his body was, to not be able to keep his eyes open a little longer… he could have had the answers. He could have known what he needed to survive in the situation he had literally been thrown into. He needed some validation.

Harry strolled purposefully back to his items, seeing that they had seemingly been ignored by the masses of people. His friend was drawing strange looks, being an owl and all, but that wasn't important now. He needed validation that this was true. His emotions crept up inside him, fear and anticipation, both common to Harry but, loss and desire were new, and they scared him. With trembling hands, he fumbled the lid of his trunk open and began to search for his wand. He knew it had to be in there… He messed up his neat folds and emptied the bags that his purchases had originally came in until he found a bundle of broken wood at the bottom. Curious, he took it out and his heart died a little more at what it was. His wand had been snapped. The feather roughly pulled out and used as a ribbon to tie the pieces of holly together with a leaving note on it. The note was from his uncle, wishing him a happy belated birthday. He clasped the wood in his hand firmly, willing for a reaction, willing himself to feel some sort of response. He felt none. He tried again and again and again… but there was no response, there was no sort of stirring in him. There was no wondrous burst of happiness, no sparks, no tingling. There was nothing. He was nothing.

He was nothing.

He was nothing.

His feet went on autopilot again as his mind crazed. It was all fake, he knew that it was too good to be true. It's not like his family hadn't faked anything like this before, once they had convinced him that they actually loved him. He knew now that it wasn't true. He was just a burden, a play toy, something that was made to be broken, just like the endless junk that Dudley received and broke in turn.

He was nothing.

His feet began to guide him closer to platform nine. He did nothing to stop his feet. Why couldn't he matter to someone? His parents must have loved him to have wanted him? But, he was now sure that they had been worthless, just like himself, and just like his aunt and uncle had always said them to be… there was nothing to prove any different.

He was nothing.

Diagon Alley must have been a dream… they had probably given him the medicine that made him have funny dreams again and thought that this would be their chance to save their family from him. Not that they needed saving, they were in control the whole time. It was probably the fact that he wasn't that made them uneasy.

He was nothing.

He was dangerous.

He paused momentarily, wondering if he could somehow get himself out of this situation. Maybe he could learn to control the weird things he could do. Maybe he could afford to have hope?

No. Hope is what gets you hurt. Hope is what causes you to become sad. Hope is what makes you want to die. Hope only leads to disappointment. Why would this time be any different?

His feet moved closer to the edge of the platform. He could see a woman on the otherside beckoning him to turn around and walk away from the edge. She was crying. Why was she crying? There was a man holding her, he was crying too. Yelling at him to turn around and that he was close to a better future. He strained to hear all their words. He wanted to listen but, why should he believe them, people only lie. Isn't this what today proved? Suddenly the man had a triumphant smile on his face and was pointing to Harry's right. He turned his head to see someone emerging from the wall. He jolted. The action dislodging his balance ever so slightly as he watched people go through the walls both ways.

He couldn't believe it.

He wanted to stop seeing it.

He wanted it to stop.

The man's face fell, knowing that he had not succeeded in convincing his son that he had a better future to get to. Tears rolled down his face as he stared at the boy who was vehemently in denial. That denial was going to kill him. The boy stayed still, his balance not stable, as he stared towards that wall. Why was he seeing this? He wanted it to stop. Why couldn't it just stop?

A train came past platform nine, pulling in to the station at a higher speed than usual. The driver had been running behind and wanted to desperately catch up to his timetable, so he wouldn't have to work overtime. He never noticed the little boy standing too close to the tracks. No one did. No one ever did. Not until it was too late anyway.

Little Harry Potter had been swept under the train, firmly believing that he was nothing. That everything that was happening was a hoax, he didn't believe in magic so, when the grim reaper came to collect him, Harry couldn't see him and the grim reaper couldn't force his belief. Harry was left at the train station, staring from the edge of platform nine towards the wall. Nobody ever came for him, they couldn't.

After all he was nothing.

People paid their respects to the boy they barely knew. They said it was a tragedy, that his life should have been filled with the happiness he deserved. That the sweet boy should have had the life they had dreamed for him. They paid their respects to the Dursley family for the little boy they had lost, yet there were those who questioned the boys upbringing, only to be quieted with an _obliviate_ from the _great_ Albus Dumbledore. The one who put Harry there in the first place. Regret filled the old man as he learnt what he had caused both directly and indirectly. After all, if someone had just told Harry how to get onto the platform properly, who knows what could have happened.

Harry Potter, the boy who never had the chance to live.


End file.
